


Slenderverse Oneshot Hell Party

by rosswood



Category: DarkHarvest00, Everyman HYBRID, EverymanHYBRID, MLAndersen0, Marble Hornets, Slenderverse - Fandom, TribeTwelve
Genre: Angst, Multi, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosswood/pseuds/rosswood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of slenderverse works I don't feel like posting on their own, each chapter being it's own fanfic. Usually things too short to post as their own stories, or things I don't feel fit into a larger story, or just one-offs I come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slenderverse Oneshot Hell Party

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains: Alcohol, mention of smoking, self harm, mention of hospitals and hospitalization

Tim had developed a way of protection for himself during his years in hospital. Hardening all the soft parts of himself to keep away any embarrassment he felt, a sixteen year old running away from the hospital that was his home to some forest, seeing things nobody else thought were real. But the more he hardened himself, the more brittle he became. He could be strong, he could protect himself, but the taste of pills getting stuck in the back of his throat, the chemical smell of hospital waiting rooms, and a neat organized desk, among other things, could shatter him. His dorm room was never entirely clean.

The only person he was connected to on a more personal level to ever see him break was Brian. A few stolen beers, a couple cigarettes, and deep conversations on the floor of Brian’s dorm brought out something in Tim. The harden parts never quite shattered, but snapped like dry rubber. He shook, hyperventilated, but never quite made it to the point of crying, clawing at the walls and screaming. Maybe he was older now, maybe it was the medication, or the beers, or Brian, but he had no idea.

“How many years?” Brian asked, casually draining the last of his second beer. Brian was a lightweight. Tim shrugged.

“I think I went there first when I was seven. Maybe eight?” He idly picked at the label on his drink. “I’m twenty now, so like seven years or something.” He sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair, he could feel himself slowly turning to jelly, it felt like drinking coffee on an empty stomach. Anxiety, panic, he didn’t know. It was hard to place.

“Damn,” Brian added, he seemed interested, but God, was Brian bad with words. “I was uh, on Prozac in high school ‘cause I was kinda erratic and destructive. I’ve never met anyone who was in hospital for so long.” He awkwardly chuckled, Tim wanted to hear it again.

“Let’s talk about you,” Tim said, more on his mind that he didn’t wanna share. “I’m boring.” He added, it felt like a lie as it slid off his tongue, voice thick with alcohol already.

“There isn’t much else to say.” He was nervous too, but more so because he knew, somewhere, that Tim was still hiding, itching to say something. He was shaking, just slightly, like he was cold instead of scared. He wasn’t making eye contact, like he usually did.

“Sure there is.” Tim urged. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He felt the rubber growing taught, dryer, he felt ill. But Brian kept urging. Tim sighed, defeated, almost, setting down his empty beer bottle and reaching for another. But, his hand was stopped He looked up.

“We both know we’re using these as an excuse to not talk.” It wasn’t hostile, his eyes were calm, concerned. Still, pressure built up inside, and he finally snapped. He retracted his arm, and shed the jacket he still wore. Brian felt himself staring, he tried not to, but he was already buzzed and had lead in his stomach from what he was seeing. Tim’s arms were covered in small, neat scars, bleach white a stark contrast on darker skin, even and coating his forearms. He felt no shame at this point, and had, for some reason, ceased shaking. Brian moved closer, looking at Tim’s face for a moment before peeling off his own hoodie to reveal his own, jagged and few in number compared to Tim’s neat grid of scars. Brian’s were thicker, deeper.

“Guess we got somethin’ else in common.” Brian looked away from his own arms back at Tim, who reached out to grab another beer, this time Brian didn’t stop him.

“We’re both self destructive assholes.” Tim said to the pop of a bottle cap.


End file.
